Blackship
by GhostLegion
Summary: Only in service can duty be found. Only in death does duty end. On a backwater world of the Imperium, a team of hunters acquire and deliver a nascent threat to a passing customer.


"I tell you I saw it!" the man bellowed into the steamy and stagnant air that hovered over the heads of the patrons surrounding the soured and sticky bar. The bar tender looked down at the small crowd in mild disinterest, knowing none of them were going to order anything new. They hadn't placed an order in some time. Most of the group still had their first orders either in hand or on the bar, and none seemed interested in the drinks. Shaking his head slightly the bartender turned back to the glass in his hand and resumed rubbing at it with a rag only slightly cleaner than his shirt.

All in all it was a standard evening in the dive; it could hardly be called a bar this close to the port. Rough crews from the passing freighters and liners taking an evening or more of shore leave before their ship put back into the starry deeps of the space lanes sometimes filled the bar. Sometimes there were the few seeking passage with a rogue trader or seeking a way to move cargo without the eyes of the so-called Judges looking over their shoulders. Press-gangs, too, sometimes moved through the area, pulling anyone that could stand, lift, and carry to man the low decks of the imperial ships. More often though, the dock workers settled to the bar, spending the little they earned on the brief moments of forgetfulness the cheaply watered concoctions brought. Still, they spent money, and the bartender didn't care so long as the money flowed faster than the liquor and the Judges stayed out of his bar.

Over in the corner, the man continued his rant, as though volume could convince the others more than his words alone. Shouting and shaking, more raving than speaking, he continued to tell of the rough passage between Corax and Falmouth IV on some scow or other and the drifting shadow in the stars that haunted the gaps between the stars. "No lights she had, and none reflected. A hole in space, that's all she was and no lie neither!" The barkeep kept moving on the glass, setting it to the shelf before finding another to clean, though with the dirty rag it was hard to tell if the glasses were cleaner before or after he worked them over. Stories are stories, and this appeared to be more of drink, drugs, or a feeble mind. All of which could only improve the fool if anyone asked the bartender, which no one did.

"Bah, what know you of space Sylas?" one of the others asked. "You only know the back end of the docks and not much of them at that!" A snort and a wracking cough followed the exclamation. Augmentics, cheap at that, and likely done by some black corner street chirugeon rather than an Imperium sanctioned apothecary. No matter how cheap, they seemed effective and the man recovered from the spasm. "What do you know, eh? Ground-side sniv'ner like you like as not void his guts as make jump. The deep black not a place for you!"

Sylas blinked as though hit, barely managing to sputter out a retort that sent the small crowd at the end of the bar into a fit of laughter. Blinking at the response he near whispered into his detractor's face, "Jamis, you'd best be pushing off before you trade your arms for jacks. Rate you drink, doubt you can afford more metal." Sylas set back to his glass, turning his back to the group, though keeping a red rimmed eye on Jamis. "I know what I saw out there. And yes Jamis, I know I haul local and you work the deeps, but even this system sees strange passings these days. You dark-runners aren't the only ones keeping a wary eye on the stars passing. I tell you, a hole in space. No light, no reflection, just dark against the black. Only way I saw her was she blocked the stars." Sylas drew slowly on his drink, letting it warm through him as he shivered with the chill of the memory.

"You mean a Black Ship, don't you Sylas," one of the surrounding group called out? "Lies and misery there, Thom," chimed in another, and almost on top of the comment a woman's voice called out "Quit with the conspiracy Sylas! We all know the Black Ships are myth and hearsay. No ship exists to steal souls from Imperial worlds, authorities wouldn't stand for it. Were they true, the press-gangs would work at a double to crew the system ships and hunt the thing!"

Sylas turned slowly to face the group again. Setting his drink back to the bar behind him he spoke in a strong yet quiet voice, "You think so, do you? And what if it be a sanctioned ship, pulling the lost and the damned from out our midst. Move the wyerdlings and wytches off where they can be punished for their sins. Like as not take the unbeliever as well, or those against Imperial Truth."

"You don't know what you saw. Like as not, you were drinking or had the gas mix wrong for the mines run again Sylas," Jamis chuckled as Sylas' face went red with the embarrassment of the comment. "Next it'll be two ships, if not three, he saw. And moving like a school of fish too no doubt. Phah, space daft locals don't know a thing of the deep black."

"Only did that once and you know it Jamis, so don't go and say it like I do it often. Just because your ship pulled me from that doesn't give you right to speak it against me!" Jamis' chuckle turned into another series of wet, racking coughs that doubled him over to the mocking laughter of the small cluster around the bar. Someone stepped up and slapped his back a few times as though it would help the augmentics kick in again.

Across the room in a darkened corner with only a single pool of light spilling over the table a pair of figures sat watching the commotion at the bar. They watched as Sylas muttered something and tossed a coin onto the bar. The shadows hid them well enough that only their hands showed on the table top and a faint highlight caught off the leather of their coats. They watched more carefully as Sylas suddenly spun and cracked his fist into Jamis' jaw at some unheard comment. This sent the crowd into another fit of laughter as Sylas clutched his hand with a cry of pain. Even the bartender almost lost his composure at that hit. "May have to remember about that. Perhaps that 'Jamis' has more than just the lungs replaced," one of the pair muttered.

"Maybe. Look, he goes, we follow?" the other asked as Sylas hurried shamedly from the bar. The bartender moved quickly down the length to scoop up the coin as he eyed the departing figure. With a flash, the coin spun into the air above his hand and disappeared before anyone could notice its size or strike.

"No. No, Marta, we do not follow. Not this time. Send a hunter after him and keep quiet a while. Dives like this always draw the types we seek. They seem to find peace in places like this. Places where the dark holds sway and no one asks too many questions or notices things that may be seen." As they turned their eyes back to watching the smaller cluster of people around Jamis, a small gesture from Marta caused a shape to detach from the shadows of the ceiling and drift after Sylas.

Sylas hurried from the dive and into the cavernous underground of the overgrown city. One of three cities on the planet and the only one with orbital launch facilities, the city spire housed millions of residents on hundreds of levels. Segregated into tiers, many of the residents spent their entire lives working and moving among the levels. Few residents traveled between the tiers, fewer still cared what happened beyond the outer shield wall that protected the city from the caustic atmosphere outside. The lowest tier had been in ruins for centuries, and few save the Judges or the idle rich willfully traveled down into them. Above the ruins were the factory levels and the docks; Sylas didn't know or care much for what went on or existed above this level and he hurried along the dark corridors and passages toward the spaceport.

Turning to look over his shoulder, Sylas picked his way nervously down the corridors and passages strewn with refuse and discarded equipment. Pausing at an intersecting corridor he spun to look behind him more thoroughly before ducking into an alcove just out of sight. He did not know what to do with himself; his ship had put him off on this miserable wreck of a world and he had nowhere to go. With a shiver and a stifled whimper, Sylas curled up into his shabby storm-coat and tucked himself into the alcove.

Drifting in and out of the flickering light extruded from the dying glo-tubes, the soft sound of a small anti-gravity engine propelled a mechanical skull to follow Sylas. Carefully keeping out of his sight and hearing, the device drifted along, recording and reporting its movements back to Marta. As its prey stopped, so did the mechanical hunter. Sometimes it ducked into an alcove, others it lurked in the shadows above the sputtering glo-tubes that cast weak pools of light along the corridors. Noticing Sylas had stopped movement, the skull shifted its position to hover in a shadowed corner, and lowered its jaw to allow a small camera to pass between its teeth. With the camera focusing, a report and image were sent to Marta, giving just enough information to know the target was stationary and where the device hovered to watch./p

"Further down the corridor, a team of men turned the corner and started toward where Sylas lay. Dusty and oil-stained overcoats covered their frames and barely managed to conceal the array of cudgels, mauls and manacles attached to their belts as they walked. Moving slowly, they appeared to be searching the corners and shadowed places, poking piles of rubbish with a cudgel or boot at seemingly random intervals. As they drew closer, one pulled the others to a halt and pointed to Sylas' unconscious form. With a slow smile, he pulled a shock-maul from under his coat and stepped away from his peers. Standing over Sylas, he thumbed the activator and shoved the maul hard into Sylas' gut.

Sylas woke with a scream as the current rushed through him, numbing his abdomen while tensing his back at the same time. "Hit 'im again Petey, I don't think he's awake," one of the men chuckled. Petey, standing behind Sylas now, thumbed the activator to a higher charge and stabbed his maul into Sylas' back. Immediately Sylas shouted again as his body arched backwards with the shock. Clenching his hands into fists as Petey stepped around him, Sylas tried to understand what was going on.

"Looks sound to me Misha. Might as well bind him up and move him off," Petey chuckled as he circled Sylas' supine form. "Looks strong too. What you figure, cargo or gun decks?"

Sylas' shock didn't register on his face as the realization hit him and he mentally cursed himself for falling asleep in the open. Press-gang. He fell asleep and was found by a press-gang.

"Him? In the cargo hold? I hardly think this runt could pull his weight there. Put him in the engines I say. Could use another back there, eh Misha?" the third member of the group chuckled as he looked down on Sylas. "Though, not much of a life in the engines. Chief always claims they die too quick in there." Shaking his head as he looked at Sylas, the man pulled a set of manacles from his belt and knelt to bind Sylas' feet. "Could always put him in the landing bay. If he's lucky, the engineers won't space the compartment before he's clear like they did the last group."

"Misha reached up and pulled his cap from his head, wiping a dirt and oil stained glove across his brow as he looked at Sylas. "He might do. But then, that's not for us to decide. Bind him up and get him moving, puts us over the quota this one does, makes us look better too." Shrugging, Misha looked Sylas over as the fourth member stepped behind him and bound his hands with another set of manacles before sliding a cudgel between Sylas elbows and back. The position wasn't intended to be comfortable, but it did help manage the newly acquired worker. "Not our call to place them though, only to reel them in. Good thing too, should be pushing out in a few hours." The group shifted around Sylas with Petey taking up position behind him and slightly to one side, his shock maul crackling with a low charge. Misha eyed their prisoner and gave a vulpine smile to his gang, "Time to take our guest to the foreman, eh boys? And then, off this rock and back out." Chuckling, Sylas' captors started him off with a hard shove, causing the chains to rattle and clink together ominously as Sylas struggled to keep his feet.

"As they walked, the press-gang moved with a heavy, if rapid, step. No one liked to linger in this part of the city, even the residents did not stay in the open long. Misha, at the front, kept fingering his coat as if wanting to pull out a maul and strike something while the pair hustling Sylas along kept eying the side corridors and path ahead of them. Petey was starting to frighten Sylas as he passed the shock-maul between his hands, its crackling energy field throwing strange colors and echoes off the corridor walls. Every so often, or when Petey thought Sylas wasn't moving fast enough, the maul would lash out and send a current racing through an arm or leg. It wasn't enough to lay Sylas low, but it was enough to quicken his pace.

"Sylas shivered with a growing fear as he listened to the press-gang laugh and talk about the ship they were forcing him to. Apparently, it wasn't a merchantman like Sylas was used to. Nor was it a system barge like the ones he saw as he pushed his tug through the system's space. Misha spoke often of the gun decks, and the recoil of the great guns rushing back into the loader's spaces. Petey drew a laugh from the rest as he told a story about an entire recovery crew being spaced during a fight. From this, Sylas determined it was a warship he was being pressed to work on, and that meant deep space. Sylas shivered again at the thought of that dark gulf, and his fear of what was to come grew as the five moved inexorably toward the spaceport and their waiting shuttle. Unnoticed to Sylas or the others, the floating skull continued to follow above them, its sensors and optics shifting their focus to keep up with the small huddle of men.

A short time later, Marta rounded a corner and paused where Sylas had been sleeping. Pulling a device from a pocket on her arm, she knelt down and drifted it over the discarded goods along the alcove wall. Eying the results, she keyed an implant that activated the communication system embedded in her jaw and spoke quietly into it. "He was here. No sign of the hunter in the local area, movement signals on relay."

"You're slipping Marta. You picked up the other one easily enough, but let this one wander," Vargas' voice transmission crackled as it vibrated across her cheekbone. Silent to anyone but Marta, the implants allowed her to speak and listen without noticeable sound to anyone but her. Vargas' voice continued in her ear as she adjusted her sensor sweep of the alcove, "Tell me that this one is worth following at least."

"Readings unclear. Small signature, no conclusions," she replied. Sweeping her eyes around the alcove and corridor, she made small adjustments to the device in her hand. "Hunter is following. We can assume a ship from target's direction and heading. I also see signs of a power discharge."

"His? Couldn't be, he wasn't armed."

"Not his. Not this time. Thermal patterns suggest five bodies. Likely one is our target, the others took him." Standing, Marta slid her sensor away and adjusted the controls of another device on her wrist. Controlling her hunters was an easy task. Their programming made it almost a child's game, but fine-tuning the devices and autonomy upgrades had made them unpredictable and almost moody at times. The homing beacon chimed almost immediately, bringing a smile to Marta's face as she started quickly down the corridors toward the docks. "Target approaching docks, three corridors from your position. Recommend intercept."

Vargas chuckled as the channel clicked off. Ever efficient, Marta was likely moving at a run to a likely intercept point. "Guess that means I should start moving then," he muttered to himself as he thumbed a locator beacon on his belt. "Knowing her, she will arrive just in time to get me shot." Vargas started in a direction the data-slate on his forearm indicated for a rapid intercept. Reaching down, he loosened the stunner he had in a holster on his thigh as he moved. Hoping the information they had was wrong, he and Marta arrived in the city five days earlier, spending the time sifting through information and narrowing their search to this level. It was sheer luck that they ended up in the same bar as Jamis and Sylas, and it only took a little time listening to the pair that Marta determined those were the two they were sent for. Jamis went without a comment, having no way to contest the debts he owed or the cranial scans conducted as he was escorted out of the bar by a trio of servitors.

Sylas, on the other hand, managed to slip between their fingers. Vargas was mildly upset that Marta sent one of her hunters after Sylas. As things turned out, it was a good idea after all. Even after the hunter acquired their target, he somehow managed to escape the net they cast. To make things worse, now he was stressed and being hustled off by a press-gang. "Just our luck a warship stopped in recruiting," Vargas thought as he hustled around a corner. Glancing down at his data slate he realized he was less than one hundred meters from the intercept point and slowed to a fast walk. It was always better to look like you belonged and had someplace to go than to wait in ambush. Vargas thought walking with a purpose and conducting an ambush on the move kept the target off-guard longer, making the ambush and capture, or kill, easier. Double checking his display, Vargas signaled his position to Marta and started to turn the corner.

Marta picked up her pace as she received Vargas ready signal, knowing he would be starting his approach whether she was ready or not. Still two corridors away, she burst into a run as she heard a scream from the general direction she expected to encounter the group holding Sylas. She doubted it could be Vargas, but he was outnumbered if her scans had been correct. Reaching to a pocket behind her back she pulled out a stunner as she rounded a corner and thumbed the activator stud. "One more to go," she thought as she heard another yell from ahead. A faint smell of ozone grew in the air and she noticed traces of frost creeping along the walls toward her as she ran. Just before making the final corner she threw the stunner ahead of her before pulling a shock-maul and a null rod from her thigh pockets. The stunner bounced off the corner wall and ricocheted into the frost covered corridor. Marta almost lost her footing on the now slick and frozen surface, bouncing off the far wall just behind the pressure wave generated by the stunner's detonation. Skidding to a halt she dropped into a low guard just in time for Vargas to slide into the corridor at the far end, stubgun in hand.

Between them, the four man press-gang lay sprawled on the floor and one appeared to be half melted into the corridor wall. Sylas lay prone with the stunner at his feet, a green actinic glow slowly fading from his face and hands. The floor around his body was free of the frost that seemed to be radiating out from his form. Vargas looked down the corridor and shrugged at Marta before slowly approaching the scene. Stepping carefully forward, Marta eyed the press-gang, stabbing at one with her shock-maul as she passed.

Vargas holstered his sidearm as he stopped close to the prone form of Sylas, "Status?" His eyes wandered the stone and metal of the corridor, taking in the scene before drifting back to the press-gang and their captive. "Well, former captive," he amended to himself. "This one's ours now. Just need to get him subdued and away before he realizes what happened." He knelt beside one of the navy men and placed his fingers against the man's throat.

Marta looked up from the man she had prodded with the charged maul, "Non-responsive, possibly dead." She moved quickly to Sylas and knelt to check for signs of life. If he were dead, this job would be easier, but it was not permitted to eliminate the target on this mission. This was intended to be retrieval for future use, not elimination and deletion.

"This one's gone. Looks like you were wrong about Sylas though. It was only a matter of time until he popped, I guess." Vargas eyed the man stuck in the wall. He looked intact, but the wall seemed to melt around and into him somehow. "Looks like this one caught the worst of it though. Wonder what he did?" Chuckling softly, Vargas stepped up beside Marta, his boot catching a discarded shock-maul and sending it skittering down the frosted floor.

"Target is inactive, though alive. Recovery possible," Marta's assessment was crisp as expected and her hands moved quickly over Sylas' restraints. "Recommend neural dampener," she said as she pulled a silvery band of metal from another pocket and placed it on Sylas' head. With a touch to a control on her wrist, a bluish charge surged along the band and a slight tremor raced through Sylas.

Vargas eyed the unconscious form, "Looks like he won't be walking anywhere soon. Guess we'll have to carry him back." Shaking his head and chuckling softly Vargas stooped to pick Sylas up. Settling the body across his shoulders as he stood, he looked back to Marta, "One passive and one active, eh? Not a bad catch for a backwater world like this. Think he has any idea what's coming?"

The thrumming rumble of powerful engines and the vibration of the floor under his back brought Sylas awake. Wincing and twisting his head from side to side, he tried to get his bearings, but found his mind wouldn't focus like he thought it should. "Feels like a bad hangover. Wonder how much I drank?" he thought as the dull throbbing in his head continued. Reaching up to rub the heels of his hands against his eyelids, he was startled by the heaviness of his wrists and the sudden clinking sound the movement caused. This, if anything, shocked his mind fully awake and his eyes flared open to take in his surroundings. Across from him, his wildly searching eyes locked on the unconscious form of Jamis. Bound hand and foot and a strange circlet pulsing with a soft energy around his head, Jamis was isolated in a small cell across what appeared to be a small cargo hold. Sylas slowly ran his fingers around his wrists, startled to find himself bound similar to the way Jamis was. He shook his head in an attempt to clear the fog from it before rubbing his eyes again. A shift in the engine pitch caught his attention. Motion had shifted, they were coming about and seemed to be backing up toward something. Mind racing, Sylas searched around his small confines for some sign to what was happening.

At one end of the compartment a door seal popped and the door hissed open to allow Marta to precede Vargas into the room. Moving quickly to the rear hatch, Marta deftly manipulated a series of controls and the engine pitch changed once again. Vargas eyed the still unconscious form of Jamis before turning his attention to the franticly searching Sylas. "You're right. There is no way out, we are at our destination, and you are being handed off to others to begin your service."

Sylas blinked at the statement. He did not remember having been in service to anyone but himself, nor did he remember owing a debt. "What do you mean 'service?'" his voice quavered as his eyes shot back to Marta and the control panel she was working on. "I…I don't owe anyone anything. Not now. Not ever." Marta reached over and toggled a switch sending half of the rear compartment wall into a transparent state. Outside it was empty, more empty than it should have been, Sylas realized. "What's happening? Why am I here?" Growing more and more frantic as his eyes searched the void beyond the compartment walls, Sylas thrashed against his bindings. Suddenly, he stopped and nearly whispered, "The stars…they're gone…" Staring incredulously his gaze slowly drifted back to the man in front of his cell. "Where are the stars?"

Vargas chuckled softly, "Oh they are out there, sure enough. In fact, I suspect you know exactly where they are, and where you are too from the look of things." Vargas watched the prisoner's eyes as his body slackened in the restraints. Once again, he was thankful for the neural dampener wrapped around his prisoner's heads. The damage even a low rated wytch could do to a ship, much less a person, was something to be very afraid of. This time Vargas was taking no chances. Turning toward Marta, he put Sylas out of his mind for the moment, "Status?"

"Level approach, reducing velocity to five meters per second, docking clamps open. We will achieve seal in two minutes," came the reply. Focused on the delicate controls, Marta spared no time to turn away from the interface, her entire being seemingly focused on guiding the little ship to a safe contact with their destination.

"A Black Ship," the whispered words caught Vargas by surprise. "You're feeding me to a Black Ship." The tremble of fear in Sylas voice sent a chill through Vargas as he turned back to his captive and eyed him speculatively. "Black Ship. Why me? Why now? I haven't done anything. I don't know anything!" Sylas resumed his thrashing against his bonds, ranting and railing his innocence and ignorance as the ship locked into place against a vastly larger hull. Door seals and hatches whined and popped as the connection was pressurized to ensure the safety and integrity of the two ships.

"Locked," Marta stated as she moved to the hatch controls and deftly adjusted the settings. Inexorably, the hatch ground its way open across corroded gears and runners built into the floors and walls.

"There, you see Sylas, it's done. You are here," Vargas watched as the hatch settled back into the walls of the compartment and revealed a pair of mechanical servitors. With stuttering steps, the cadaverous forms clanked their way into the cargo hold, their necrotizing flesh pulled taught and slackened with each step. "You will find these captors harder to escape than the press-gang you killed." Vargas unlocked the cage surrounding Jamis and the servitors stepped through. Picking Jamis up between them, they turned and slowly made their way back into the dark metal and granite corridors of the Black Ship. Sylas started to whimper, tears pooling in the corners of his eyes as the mind numbing fear of what was to happen washed over him. More servitors would come. More would come and bind him up, take him away into the darkness. Take him and lock him in the darkness where no stars would see him, no light would find him. He closed his eyes and rocked slowly, whimpering with the fear of what was to come.

Vargas moved to open the cell and step closer to Sylas' whimpering form. Leaning down, he tightened the bindings on his prisoner, then whispered beside him, "Can you hear them Sylas? Hear them coming for you?" Vargas let a slow smile play across his face, not that Sylas could see it, as the clanking stutter-steps of a cluster of servitors sounded from the corridors of the Black Ship. "They're coming for you Sylas. Because of what you are. Because of what you let yourself become." Sylas' whimpering and moaning grew louder as the metal footsteps came closer. Vargas stepped away from the man on the floor and walked to stand with Marta. "You're certain the dampeners will keep him docile? Agitated as he is, we do not need the wytch lashing out with his curse."

Marta's eyes checked the displays over Sylas cage with the display on her wrist, "He is secure. There is nothing he can do now." Dismissing the scene from her mind, Marta turned and stepped through the hatch back into the main portion of their little ship just as a group of five servitors entered from the Black Ship.

Vargas watched as one of the servitors moved to stand at Sylas' head. Combinations of metal and flesh, the servitors were little more than corpses or lobotomized humans with computer implants and mechanical parts. Vargas winced as the servitor extended its mechanical arm and clamped a collar to Sylas' throat. Two other servitors moved to lift Sylas and stand him between them. "Good-bye Sylas," Vargas whispered as the three servitors started him moving toward the dark gap the hatch opened in the hull. "With luck, you will never see anyone again."

Sylas screamed as he felt the cold of the Black Ship wash into him. He had not even crossed from Vargas ship, but he screamed and shook against his captors, the collar around his neck not giving or loosening in any way. The final pair of servitors stepped forward and Sylas felt his legs jerked from under him. He was being carried, and no struggling would release him from the cold, dead grip of the servitors surrounding him. He had no idea what would happen to him, but he knew he did not want to be locked away in the dark with these things that carried him. The last thing he heard as the hatches whirred their way shut behind him was a near whisper from Vargas.

"With luck, you will die for your sin. Just hope you do not end up," he paused for a moment before trailing off into a half whisper, "like them."


End file.
